Welcome to the fourth week of the Advent season!
These past three weeks of Advent I’ve been reflecting on the Songs of Christmas shared in Luke’s gospel. If you missed them, click below:
- 1st Week-–Sing Along With Mary (a most unusual Christmas Carol)
- 2nd Week-–Sing Along With Zechariah (a song for those really tired of waiting)
- 3rd Week-–Sing Along with Simeon (a song for those feeling left out)
This week instead of an ancient biblical hymn, I’m offering one of my favorite Christmas poems by Christina Rossetti, In the bleak midwinter. You’ve probably heard it before.
For me, it captures the paradox of Christmas: the blazing supernatural uniqueness of the Creator entering his own creation in tension with the fragile, earthy humility of how his human creatures received and welcomed him.
This year many of us will forego our normal Christmas activities: trips to the mall, gatherings with friends and family, the beauty of Christmas Eve worship.
Indeed, as the poet reflects, midwinter does look “bleak” this year–over 300,000 American families grieving the death of a loved one from covid-19; many millions coping with lost jobs or reduced income and anxious about basic needs like food and shelter; and many of the rest of us who have been spared these tragic circumstances still missing family and our usual celebrations this Christmas.
And so, in each of our personal bleak midwinters this year, be reminded: what God most seeks is not celebrations, not even reverent Christmas Eve worship services…giving our hearts is the most precious gift of all.
In the bleak midwinter
BY CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
In the bleak midwinter, frosty wind made moan,
Earth stood hard as iron, water like a stone;
Snow had fallen, snow on snow, snow on snow,
In the bleak midwinter, long ago.
Our God, Heaven cannot hold Him, nor earth sustain;
Heaven and earth shall flee away when He comes to reign.
In the bleak midwinter a stable place sufficed
The Lord God Almighty, Jesus Christ.
Enough for Him, whom cherubim, worship night and day,
Breastful of milk, and a mangerful of hay;
Enough for Him, whom angels fall before,
The ox and ass and camel which adore.
Angels and archangels may have gathered there,
Cherubim and seraphim thronged the air;
But His mother only, in her maiden bliss,
Worshipped the beloved with a kiss.
What can I give Him, poor as I am?
If I were a shepherd, I would bring a lamb;
If I were a Wise Man, I would do my part;
Yet what I can I give Him: give my heart.
